Tears of Blood
by HellFire
Summary: Duo recieves a mission that will forever change the lives of himself and the other pilots. Will he accept it, or suffer the concequences?...Deathfic, morbid, blood
1. ToB: Ninmu

~ All standard disclaimers apply

~ Warning: Deathfic, tons of blood, morbid, stuff like that

~ Note: This is only the prologue, so that's why it's so short. All reviews appreciated

~ Tears of Blood: Ninmu ~

HellFire

In a darkened room two shadowed men sat, one on the floor, the other in an armchair. The man in the armchair laughed, the sound soft and low. He picked up a glass from a nearby table, swirling the half-empty goblet. The dark red wine possessed the only color visible in the small room. The man took a sip, then replaced the glass on the table. Leaning back his head, the figure spoke.

"Winter. A time of harsh coldness, a time of death. The cold kills plants, burying them under a smothering blanket of snow and ice. Food is scarce, warmth even more so. People and other animals hole themselves up in their homes, attempting to stay warm and escape the winter's harsh winds and biting frost.

"Winter in this area is specially harsh. Many have died of malnutrition and cold, just as many left on their deathbeds. They wait for the summer to finish them off. Never has there been a proper burial given, never will the people be able to give one. The dead outnumber the living. If these people knew the secret of necromancy, the dead could drive out the living just by sheer force of numbers.

"Every winter is the same as the previous one. Cold gales blow, whipping the skeletal trees back and forth, preventing any snow from settling, if the people are lucky enough. Most often there is no snow. The air is too cold, freezing the snow into hailstones. Always the wind blows, never ceasing in its howling.

"The people don't move because they can't. There is nowhere for them to go. Even if there were, the people would die long before they reached it. Crops are hard to maintain, often dying before they ripen. The people would have no food, and would die of starvation, if the cold didn't steal their souls first. Or rather, if the cold didn't give _me_ reason to want their souls.

"Yes, I'm rambling. No smart-ass remarks. You know very well what would happen, I'm sure. Ah, you and your comrades are forced to stay in this area for quite a spell yet, am I correct? Yes… and that Arab boy provides for you. Not that it would matter if he didn't, in your case at least.

"Now, I'm giving you a side mission, one I expect completed within a quarter moon's turn. Don't worry, you'll be rewarded, as usual.

"What I want you to do is get rid of the other Gundam pilots. They're a nuisance, sending me such strong souls. What's that?

"Why not kill the scientists? Those idiots may be the ones who trained you boys and give you orders, but it's you boys who kill the soldiers and give me such reluctant spirits. I want those boys dead and I want you to kill them.

"Now go, and don't fail me. I own your soul. I can do whatever I want with it, _to_ it.

"I knew you'd understand. I'll be waiting."

The black figure vanished, leaving behind the half-empty glass of wine and a single, red rose, petals tipped in black, thorns wicked sharp. The other person lowered his head, a long braid of hair slipping over his shoulder. The snowstorm raged on outside, oblivious.

~ Tsuzuku ~

~ A/N: Remember, this was only the prologue. I'm working on the next part, and hopefully it'll be better. Ja.


	2. ToB: Kaitou

~ All standard disclaimers apply

~ Warning: See ToB- Ninmu

~ Tears of Blood: Kaitou ~

Duo sat in his darkened room, staring straight ahead. He didn't understand. Why? Why tell him to kill his comrades, his _friends_? It would be so much better, so much less painful, to kill the scientists. They were the ones who gave the orders to kill. They were the ones who had trained them to kill. They were the ones who had given them the Gundams, the tools of mass destruction.

However, even if the scientists died, the others would keep fighting. Duo knew this with certainty, because he knew he would keep fighting. He would fight until the war was over, as would the others. But even if he killed his friends, the scientists would only bring in new boys, train _them_ to be what they had lost. So it wouldn't matter, would it, if the current pilots lost their lives? After all, Heero always said that they were expendable. That was why he valued life, especially his own, so little.

Perhaps that would be his next order, his next mission. Kill the scientists. That he could do. They were a bunch of crazy old geezers anyway. Someone would be coming for them soon enough. Why not send them on their way a little early?

But no. The master would hate it for his servant to take such decisive action without orders. He would be overstepping his rights, however minimal they were. Duo shuddered when he remembered Solo, another boy who had given his soul to the master. Solo had been given a mission that he failed to complete. He had angered the master with his defiance. His soul was still writhing in pain, even now, 10 years later. All that agony brought on by one simple word from the master.

Duo continued to stare into the dark space in front of him, remembering his former friend. Now Solo was used as an example of what could happen to any who dared go against the master's orders. The new recruits would be forced to watch the tormented soul squirm in its invisible confines, hearing its hollow cries echoing in their skulls, pleading for mercy. Duo didn't doubt that the tales the new ones heard of Solo's defiance were exaggerated. However, very few had known the truth of the matter, and Duo was the only one left with his living body. For some reason or other, all the Soulless Ones' bodies died early. Duo was the oldest and had been for a while.

He didn't particularly relish the though of becoming a tormented soul, like Solo. But if he wanted to hold off that he would have to kill his friends. There was no way around it. Perhaps, if he could sneak some poison into the dinner…? No. He'd have to eat the dinner, and the poison too.

But would that be so bad? He could die with his friends. The master wouldn't have too much to punish him for. After all, the others would be dead too, right? Sure, he could expect some punishment for not waiting until he was sure they were dead, but that had to be better than outright killing his friends.

He didn't really need to worry about joining Solo in eternal pain for something like that. He was the oldest, and had the most experience. The master might not want to pull his most adept slave out of service for not making sure his targets had died.

He would do it. He could sneak into the kitchen now, dump some poison into the food. No one would know it was him who had put the poison in the food. They could all die together, save him some heartache.

Duo stood, fished around in his duffel bag. Feeling cold glass smooth against his hand, he closed his fingers around the small vial, pulling it out. He examined it with a kind of grateful dread. The bottle was about the length of his finger, not much thicker.

Clear liquid sloshed around inside, scentless, tasteless. ¾ of the glass was empty. It didn't matter. The poison was strong enough to kill a full-grown man with only a few drops. Admittedly, it would take a few pain-filled hours for the guy to die, but if Duo poured the entire contents of the vial into the meal, they should all die after the first swallow.

Sighing, Duo stood, palming the tiny bottle. He coaxed his joker's mask on, wondering what he would do if someone were already in the kitchen. Well, he'd manage somehow. If anyone was in there, they were bound to turn their back to the food eventually. He could slip the poison in then. It was a good thing he had acquired a reputation for loving food. That would explain his presence, if anyone happened to be curious.

Hoping his smile didn't seem too forced, Duo opened the door. He was extremely grateful that all the pilots had been forced to stay in the same safe house. Momentarily the smile on his face altered into a smirk. He was sure the master had arranged that. It was odd for all of them to have a large, joint mission like this one. Perhaps one of the Soulless Ones had messed with the scientists' minds, or maybe their computers. Whatever the reason, he was glad he didn't have to search out any pilots missing the dinner.

The food sat on the counter, special containers keeping them warm. That was just one of the benefits of having a rich friend. Even in below freezing temperatures, they still received hot food. Duo opened the first of the two containers, carefully unstopping the tiny vial in his hand. The smell of the food enveloped him, along with a cloud of warmth. Duo paused, letting the warm steam bring some color back to his cheeks. He brought up his hand, preparing to dump half the liquid onto the food.

He tilted his hand, watching the fluid rush to the lip of the bottle. He froze. Someone was watching him. He could feel it. Glancing over his shoulder, eyes wide, Duo saw Heero standing in the doorway, staring at him. A blush rose to Duo's cheeks, deepening the color brought on by the heat of the food.

Did he know? Could Heero see the small cylinder of glass he held? Would he be able to tell that the liquid inside was poison?

"Hn." Heero turned and walked away, leaving Duo breathing heavily behind him.

He didn't know. If he had, Duo's body would be dead now, shot by the other boy's gun. Heero had most likely suspected that his comrade had been about to sneak a bit of food, an embarrassed blush coloring his cheeks at being caught. Duo was safe. He could continue, he could…

…He could murder his friends, that's what he could do. That's what would have happened if Heero hadn't appeared in the doorway. Duo supposed it wouldn't have mattered if his friend had or hadn't shown up. They were all destined to die, whether in battle, after the war, or by a comrade's hand.

Duo knew he had to do this. The master was watching, expecting his servant to obey. And if he didn't…his soul would join Solo's in eternal torture. He didn't want that, but he didn't want to hurt his friends. When the master attained the pilots' souls, they would be punished. And sooner or later, he would get them. The longer those souls were out of his grasp, the more torment they would receive when they finally joined the master's collection. So… it was… better… if they went… now… right?

Even with this knowledge Duo couldn't force himself to pour the poison. As if it had a mind of its own, the braided teen's hand straightened, recapping the tiny vial of poison. The container of food was closed, and Duo walked away, the glass bottle concealed in his pocket. He kept up the joker's mask, once again hoping the grin didn't look as fake as it felt.

~~~

Somehow Duo made it though the dinner. He was nervous, fidgety. He half expected someone to keel over, dead from the poison. What if some of the elixir had been spilt in his surprise at seeing Heero? Maybe there was a drop of the toxin in the food. They could die, but it wouldn't be quick.

One drop divided among five… They would die slowly, painfully as the poison affected their muscles and nerves. Nerves would seem on fire, burning them up while leaving them frozen in pain. It would slowly make it hard, nearly impossible for their muscles to contract and relax, slowing their hearts, leaving the blood still in their veins. This was not a forgiving poison.

Duo remained tense throughout the meal, eyes darting from the food to each of his friends in turn, looking for the paling of the skin, diluting of the pupils that was characteristic to his poison. He knew he was acting oddly, but there was no way he would be able to keep up a steady stream of mindless chatter. He was too stressed, knowing what could be in the food but not knowing if it was even there. For all he knew the poison hadn't fallen, leaving the food uncontaminated.

"Duo? Duo, daijoubu?"

"Nani?" Duo snapped back to attention, nervously pushing his food around on his plate.

"You zoned out, you're quiet, and you haven't eaten." Heero replied swiftly.

// Shit, they noticed. Well duh, of course they noticed. You're acting way too weird Maxwell. Ah hell, what'm I gonna say? // "I- I don't feel good. I'm going to my room."

Duo stood, mentally berating himself as he walked out of the room. //Oh yes, such an original excuse. Give em the ol 'I don't feel good' routine. That's been used, what, a million times before? What happened to all my smart-ass remarks, as the master calls them. Aw shit, what'm I gonna do?// He entered the darkened room, not bothering to turn the lights on. The dark would comfort him, if nothing else.

Duo paced around the room, knowing exactly where everything lay. He had to kill them, but he couldn't. They knew. They knew something was up. He was acting up after one attempt. Who knew how many it would take before he could finally do it?

If only it had been someone else. One of the other Soulless Ones could have killed the pilots, and him too, while they were at it. Or if someone else had been the target, Duo wouldn't have hesitated to pour the poison. Depending on who it was, he might not have even considered using the poison. He might have gone at it with his gun or knife, or even his bare hands.

"Why the hell couldn't it have been someone else?!"

"Why couldn't what have been someone else?"

Duo spun the see the owner of the new voice, his braid flying around and whipping him in the face. Pushing the length of hair aside, the braided teen stared wide-eyed at the other boy standing in the doorway. Dark blue eyes glared back as Duo silently looked at the boy he had claimed to be his best friend.

The one he was ordered to kill.

Heero cocked an eyebrow, the small gesture reminding Duo that he had been asked a question. Duo stuttered for a moment, unsure whether he had spoken more than the last statement aloud. He couldn't risk it. Even if Heero had heard, the master would be extremely upset if his slave confirmed any information.

"Oh, I-I was wondering why someone else couldn't have done this job instead of me. We're all freezing our asses off, but we don't all have to be here!" Well, technically it wasn't lie. He _had_ been wondering why someone else hadn't been assigned his job, even though it wasn't the mission Heero assumed it was. And it _was_ freezing.

"Hn."

Duo continued to fidget, playing with the end of his braid. It sounded lame, even to himself. Heero was sure to have noticed the way he avoided the other boy's eyes, how his breathing was labored, how nervous he was. There was no way the Perfect Soldier could have missed it. Even now Duo could feel the weight of Heero's gaze on him, unrelenting. It was as if Heero knew he was being lied to and planned on wringing the truth out with the power in his eyes.

This wasn't working. He couldn't do this. He couldn't lie to his friend. Duo had always prided himself on being honest, most of the time. His status as a Soulless One required him to lie to protect the master. However, he had never needed to lie to any of his friends. Admittedly, he never told them the whole truth about himself, but that wasn't _really_ lying. Just not telling all the facts.

Duo took a breath. He couldn't lie. It didn't feel right.

"Heero I- huh?" He blinked, staring at the empty doorway. "Oh well. I'm not gonna go looking for him. What would I say? 'Hey buddy, guess what? I'm gonna send your soul to the master so he can torture it along with mine! You'll be writhing in agony for the rest of forever!' Right. He'd think I completely lost it. If he doesn't think that already."

Duo sat down on his bed, unaware of the boy listening around the corner.

~~~

Duo stood over the sleeping form of Heero wondering what he was doing. He had a dagger clutched in his shaking hand. //What the hell happened to my brain?! This is the Perfect Soldier here! He'll wake up now, see me with the dagger, and shoot my guts out! I must be crazy to try this!//

He blinked, realizing why he had been about to kill his best friend first. Heero had the quickest reaction time, and didn't hesitate to kill. Duo had been looking for a way out. He'd subconsciously been hoping that the other boy would kill him before he had a chance to hurt anyone else. He was afraid, plain and simple. Weak, as Wufei would say.

Duo backed away, mind reeling. He'd never failed the master before. Then again, he'd never been ordered to kill his friends before. He couldn't fail the mission placed upon him by the master, but he couldn't bring himself to kill his friends, either.

Which side would win? Loyalty to the master, or loyalty to his friends? To obey would mean loosing his friends, no, purposely misplacing them. But, the master wouldn't harm his soul. To disobey guaranteed eternal torture for his spirit, but left his friends alive, for a time. Which meant more, his soul or his friends?

Matte. There had to be a way around choosing; these painful options couldn't be the only ones he had. Duo gasped as the loophole made itself clear. There was a way…

He hurried out of the room, nearly tripping in his haste. Duo forced himself to move slowly, trying not to make too much noise. There was no way he wanted any of the others waking up. He was going to do this. It was so much easier this way…

Duo quietly closed the door behind him, cringing at the audible click the lock made. He stood before the sink, not bothering to turn on the light. Gazing into the darkness, the boy could barely make out the shadowy form in the mirror. Only his eyes blazed clear, amethyst stones set in cold determination.

Holding his arm over the basin, Duo raised the dagger. He regretted not having hot water to make the blood come faster, but he couldn't risk waking any of the others. He nicked the inside of his wrist, a shallow cut. The boy welcomed the flash of pain that accompanied the rending of his flesh. Blood welled up from the tear, slowly making its way down into the sink. He drove the blade deep into his flesh, wincing as it severed muscles, nerves, veins.

The pain was sharp, intense. Duo bit back a gasp, forcing himself to draw the dagger out slowly, widening the gash. Blood spurted from the torn flesh, staining his shirt, plunging into the sink. Clumsily he transferred the dagger to his injured hand. Gripping the handle as tightly as he was able, the teen drove the dripping blade into his other wrist.

He stood, watching the blood fly from his veins, as if desperate to escape its confines. It spattered the mirror, dotting the surface. The larger drops slid down the smooth surface, leaving red streaks behind. His reflection stood behind the drops of blood, a hazy outline spotted by red, violet eyes too bright.

Duo smiled grimly. He'd found a way around the mission. True, it was the easy way out, but he couldn't bring himself to hurt his friends. Sure, his soul would be tortured, but the master wouldn't send it to accompany Solo's in eternal torture, would he? After all, the order had been to kill the Gundam pilots, and he was one of them. Duo ignored the fact that the master had said to kill the other pilots, not his own body.

It wasn't coming fast enough! The blood was spilling too slowly for his taste, even though the flow hadn't lessened. Tightening his numb fingers around the hilt of the dagger, Duo raked the blade across the rest of his arm. Now the skin on both forearms was nothing more than red stained strips of flesh, riding the rivers of blood.

More blood splattered the mirror, doing its best to obscure the shadow of the dying boy.

He was getting light headed from blood loss. The pain reverberated through his whole body. Transfixed, Duo stared at the bloody mess of his arms, watching the life-giving liquid rapidly fleeing his body, taking the curse of life with it. Black tendrils licked at the edges of his vision. They threatened to reach into the center, merge and blind him to the rest of the world, to the pain.

No. He couldn't go with them just yet. He had to feel the full power of the pain. It was of his making, the pain. He had to live with it a little longer…

But the agony was dulling. The black fingers were pushing it away from him, pulling him into their depths. Duo glanced at his barely seen reflection in the glass. The eyes were dimming, fading to gray. He clung to the last hints of pain, pulling it into him, punishment for himself. The blackness receded, vision cleared. Duo breathed, wondering if this was normal for a dying man to experience.

Suddenly the darkness welled up, sucking him under, keeping him there. His body fell forward, mind trapped in the clinging blanket of nothing. The dagger scraped against his face, drawing a line of blood from his forehead down past his temple. Duo's body lay, twisted on the bathroom floor, mind lost to the black waters of death.

~~~

A shadowed man looked on in distaste as the transparent form before him slowly solidified. Blank gray eyes lost their emptiness as violet filtered though. The man clenched his fist, knuckles white around the handle of a whip. He rose from his chair, raising the whip as he walked toward the nearly opaque boy before him.

~~~

Gasping, Quatre jerked up in bed, blankets pooling around his waist. His eyes were wide with fear and pain, hands clawing at his shirt in a vain attempt to alleviate the pain. His breathing was labored, apprehension constricting his chest.

"Na-nani? Kore wa… kore wa… Trowa!"

Trowa rose from his bed, coming to sit next to the blond. "What is it, Little One? What is your Uchuu no Kokoro telling you?" He gently rubbed the smaller pilot's back in an attempt to calm.

"It's- Something's not right with one of us." Quatre paused, trying to determine which of his friends was in trouble. "Duo! We have to help him! He's-"

The boy bolted out the door before finishing his sentence. Trowa quickly followed him to Duo and Heero's room. He skidded to a stop, almost bumping into the other boy. Quatre was standing in the doorway, hand over the light switch, staring at Duo's empty bed. Heero was crouched in a fighting stance, eyes flashing.

Before Heero could rise, Quatre was out of the room, calling for Duo. The pain in his chest was still sharp, herding him onward, desperate to find the missing pilot. As he neared the closed door of the bathroom, the pain in his chest increased, making him gasp aloud.

One hand over his heart, Quatre frantically rattled the doorknob, somehow not surprised that it was locked. He began pounding on the wood, alternately shouting for Duo and calling for someone to break it down. A strong hand pulled him away from the door. Quatre turned, looked into Wufei's dark eyes as Heero broke through the door.

Immediately the young blond was in the small room, turning on the light and joining Heero at the side of the unconscious Duo. Blood still pumped from his arms, creating a growing pool, saturating his clothes and hair. After one glance Wufei hurried to get the First Aid kit, Trowa to get some towels. Heero and Quatre worked together in an attempt to staunch the flow of blood, tears streaming down Quatre's cheeks as he spoke.

"You can't die. Duo, we need you. Stay with us, please! You can't leave us. You're always saying that you're the god of death, but death can't die! You can't die, you just can't!"

With the reappearance of Trowa and Wufei, Quatre moved out into the hall to give the others more room to work. Heero stayed inside, supporting Duo's body as the other two worked to bandage the boy's arms. Quatre continued to murmur his pleas even as Duo was transported to his bed.

Knowing his friend needed blood, the blond pilot rolled up his sleeve. Understanding, Trowa began preparing the necessary equipment for the transfusion. Finding a vein in Duo was a problem. The boy has sliced open both forearms, preventing them from using any veins there. Eventually they found one and inserted the needle.

Blood began to flow through the tube, a red ribbon that was Duo's only hope. It seemed so fragile, as if one touch would break the ribbon, sever it forever. Quatre sat next to Duo's prone body, watching the blood flow between them. He felt himself getting weaker and knew he had to cut the ribbon soon. But not yet. Duo had lost so much blood, was still so pale…

Carefully monitoring the exchange, Trowa reached for the strip of rubber around Quatre's upper arm. The Arab opened his mouth to protest. He could still give more. He _had_ to give more. No one else could, and Duo needed more…

Trowa held the smaller boy still while Heero pulled out the needles. Heero glared at Quatre, silently ordering the other to remember his own health. Quatre shut his mouth, turning his gaze back to the still form on the bed.

"The one time that onna Sally could be of use she's nowhere near." Wufei grumbled, glancing at Duo's body before walking out the door.

Trowa rose and followed Wufei outside. Heero and Quatre remained. They applied pressure to the still boy's torn arms, hoping to hurry the clotting.

Duo's heartbeat was still slow, his blood too thin. He was breathing shallowly. What with his diluted blood, the comatose boy couldn't be getting adequate oxygen. Even with the additional blood he'd just received… There had been too large a pool surrounding Duo's body, in his hair, in his clothes, but not his veins where it was needed.

Occasionally Quatre would lean over to listen to the soft breathing or faint heartbeat. He had not stopped murmuring, even though Duo could not answer. Heero kept silent, eyes on the motionless body before him.

While the two pilots kept vigil over their unconscious friend, Trowa and Wufei worked to clean the bathroom. Looking at the pool of blood covering the majority of the tile floor, Trowa felt vaguely awed. There was so much of it. It was almost hypnotizing, watching the light play over the red liquid. It shimmered, white streaks of light cutting across the dark, seemingly fixed surface.

Ripples disrupted the illusion, broke the spell.

"Oi, Trowa."

Trowa blinked, reached for the towels. In the end there were hardly any left unstained. Cleaning all this material would be hell. At least they wouldn't be low on water. All they had to do was figure out a way to melt ice collected from outside. Wufei and Trowa managed to remove the majority of the blood from both the bathroom and the hall floor, although the spaces between the individual tiles would forever be stained a brownish red. Wufei stepped outside with a bucket and returned along with a blast of wind. The towels were tossed in the bucket of freshly gather snow and ice. They would worry about the laundry later.

"I should have known he'd try something." Quatre murmured. "I should have know something was wrong when he didn't eat. This is my fault. If only I had paid more attention…!"

Heero sat, silently assisting his blond comrade. He made no move to convince the other boy that the current situation could not have been his fault. Instead he kept his eyes on Duo's pale face, his hands on Duo's bandaged arms. Heero concentrated on Duo's shallow breaths, willing the braided one to wake. The war was not yet won; the boy's piloting skills could still be used.

"No… Duo no…" Quatre's eyes widened, the dull throb in his chest increasing. "Duo… don't…please don't…"

Heero cocked an eyebrow, glanced at Quatre. Seeing the pleading, pained expression, he quickly found Duo's heartbeat. As his fingers located the faint pulse, the comatose boy's breathing faltered. Heero cursed softly as the pulse under his fingertips skipped a beat. By now Quatre had gone as pale as Duo, breaths coming hard and fast. He hunched over, wide blue eyes trained on his friend's face, mumbled pleas mixing with his breathing.

A scream tore itself from Duo's throat, wordless torment piercing his friends' ears. His eyes shot open, violet replaced by gray, gray empty of all that had made the boy Duo Maxwell. He ripped his arms from his comrades' hands, using fingers curved like claws to tear at his own face, throat, chest. Gray eyes remained empty, devoid of the agony expressed by the body.

Heero snatched Duo's hands away from his body, holding the struggling boy tight. The door burst open to admit Trowa and Wufei. Duo went limp, his body pitching forward, face landing on Heero's chest. Blood flowed, dark and red and thick.

Carefully Heero pushed his fallen comrade back on the pillows. Empty gray eyes tinged with red stared at the ceiling as the boy vainly searched for a heart beat. Heero passed his hand over those eyes, closing them. Quatre began to weep.

"We need to dispose of the body."

The blond pilot cried out at Trowa's emotionless statement.

"He's dead," Wufei spoke. "We need to get rid of the corpse before it rots."

Swallowing any disagreements Quatre nodded sadly. They were right. Duo's body would rot in the small house. He needed to be buried outside, laid to rest. Even so, that didn't mean Quatre couldn't mourn.

Heero lifted the cadaver in his arms, then motioned to the door with his head. The pilots filed silently outside. Although he was already wearing his jacket, Quatre shivered at the thought of venturing out into the snow. But they needed to do this, as a final act of courtesy to their dead friend.

The cadaver was buried hastily; perhaps only Heero seemed immune to the cold. Quatre bowed his head, saying a quick prayer, then followed his comrades back into the dubious warmth of the safe house. Without a word, Heero, Trowa and Wufei set about cleaning the mess of Duo's bed. Quatre sat at the table, staring at his hands. It was clear that none of this was quite real to him yet.

How long Quatre sat there he didn't know. He knew he should help the others, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to move. His body was frozen, stiff, just as Duo's must be. He knew his hands were folded in front of him, but he didn't see them. He was deaf to the sounds made by his friends, of the wind howling outside.

//Arms struggling, hands clawing, blood flowing. Empty gray eyes open wide. Limp body falling, resting on blood-soaked pillows. Hand over staring eyes, closing them. Backdrop: wordless agony, never-ending.//

A hand on his shoulder pulled the boy away from the mental scene replaying itself. Quatre looked up to see Trowa's blank face staring down at him. Forcing a tiny smile to his lips, the Arab stood. Without a word he retired to his room and lay staring at the ceiling.

The door opened, Trowa's quiet footsteps padded to the other bed. Rustling of bedclothes, then silence. If he concentrated, Quatre could hear the other boy's breathing, slowly evening out into the rhythm of sleep.

Once again the scene replayed itself, sounds echoing in the boy's head, images burning his eyes. Quietly he endured this, tears slipping down his cheeks. When sleep overtook him he joined the scene, the nightmarish visions haunting him all night.

~ Tsuzuku ~


	3. ToB: Batsu

~ All standard disclaimers apply

~ Warning: See ToB- Ninmu

~ Tears of Blood: Batsu ~

"What were you thinking?" _Whiplash, pained whimpering._

"I gave you an order." _Another whiplash, more whimpering._

"I expect complete obedience," _A crack, gasping._

"Without question." _Another crack, thin wailing._

"Even though you knew the rules you disobeyed me." _A dull thud, sounds of gasping._

"You know the punishment for disobeying a direct order." _Hesitant affirmation. Pause._

"It would be a pity to dispose of my most experienced servant." _Gasping quiets._

"I'll give you one more chance. Mess this up and you join Solo, understood?" _Frantic nodding, attempts at thanks._

"Good. Finish your mission."

Understanding the dismissal, the boy scrambled to his feet. With a deep bow and jumbled thanks to the master, the slave left. He hurried through the long corridors, passing other souls without a second glance. The others barely took notice of the bleeding violet-eyed boy covered only by a tattered loincloth.

The soul formerly known as Duo Maxwell finally stopped before two huge doors. Ignoring the carvings in the wood he placed his right hand atop the dark brown handprint that served as a lock. He was rewarded with the doors swinging away from him. He hurried into the room and headed for the far wall.

When he reached his destination the boy inwardly smirked. Hanging from pegs were numerous pristine white robes. Of all the colors for the master to choose from, he chose white. Black seemed to be a more logical choice, considering the ones wearing these robes were sent out to kill living mortals.

After donning a robe the boy reached for the cloth-wrapped parcel previously hidden by the robe. Gingerly he picked it up, almost loathe to touch it. As if the robe weren't bad enough. Carrying one of these was like shouting out 'Hey, I'm on probation! If I mess this up I join Solo in eternal torture!'

Gripping his parcel the slave stepped out of the room. He door swung shut behind him without a noise. He padded barefoot down the corridor, cheeks pink with embarrassment as he noted the stares. Lowering his head to hide his eyes the slave hurried on his way.

He banged into someone rounding a corner. Wide violet eyes looked up to see another slave, this one in a dark green robe. Horror and embarrassment filled his eyes, cheeks darkening to red. Without looking the boy knew the other slaves, dressed in brown loincloths, had stopped in their tracks and stood, mutely staring at their two robed colleagues.

The green robed soul narrowed his eyes. He, too, carried a cloth-wrapped bundle, but this was not a slave facing the same discomfort as the braided one. The green of his robe stated that this slave had done something to please the master and, although his body had died, still continued serving the master out of his own free will. Therefore, he was higher, much, much higher in status than Duo.

Duo was in for another beating.

~ Tsuzuku


	4. ToB: Kaeru

~ All standard disclaimers apply

~ Warning: See ToB- Ninmu

~ Tears of Blood: Kaeru ~

Quatre stood by the window, peering out into the snow. Dark bags marred the skin under is bloodshot eyes. The jacket he wore seemed to swallow him whole; his clothes seemed absurdly oversized. He sighed, his breath misting in the cold air, fogging the already clouded glass pane.

Three days and still he relived every awful detail of that horrible day. He had no escape. During the day memories filled his mind's eye and inner ear, drowning out the real world. At night the memories sucked him in, forcing him to look into those lifeless gray eyes, hear the agonized scream, feel once again the agony of knowing that if he had just tried harder... If he had just tried harder none of this would have happened and Duo would still be alive. Visions haunted him, but there was nothing he could do.

There was no respite even from his Uchuu no Kokoro. It maintained a dull ache in his chest, as it the agony of Duo's torment had left a residue that would never be cleansed. Or perhaps the ache was the product of something else. None of the remaining pilots had been given any missions since they had arrived in this Allah-forsaken shack. The only orders had been to stay here and await further instruction. No instructions had arrived.

Trowa had attempted to contact Professor G about Duo's death, but had received no acknowledgement. After no reply had been obtained Heero had been on his laptop for hours tracing the email and G's whereabouts. The search provided disappointing results. As far as Heero could tell, G had gotten the message, opened it and replied. However, the mail was routed and rerouted so many times it was next to impossible to find out what had happened to it, even for Heero. The pilot was a master hacker and tracer, but apparently the professor was better.

Absently Quatre rubbed his chest. The pain didn't dissipate. He focused on the falling snow on the other side of the fragile glass. It was an opaque white blanket, hiding the outside world from view. As he watched, a stray gust of wind opened a hole in the curtain. A shape became visible, dark against the white background. Its form shifted, whipping in the wind. It collapsed, surrendered to nature's force.

It could very well have been a loose piece of cloth caught in the storm, but somehow Quatre didn't think so. Before he quite realized what he was doing, he was halfway out the door, the wind propelling snow into his face and down his jacket. He left the door open, hurrying as much as he could to the dark shadow just barely visible against the blinding storm.

The blanket of snow was so thick Quatre nearly stepped on the dark bundle before he noticed it. Straining his eyes, he took a closer look. The dark stuff looked like hair, soaked by the snow and whipped about by the wind… A loose strand of it wrapped around Quatre's numb fingers. It was hair! And a lot of it. 

Duo! Only Duo had hair as long as this. Quatre's mind shied away from the fact that he had just buried Duo's dead body three days ago. This had to be Duo. Surely he had just stepped outside, never mind why, and gotten so cold he'd collapsed. Those three days of agony had never happened; they were only a bad dream, something easily dismissed now that Duo was here, alive, not dead, not buried. Shoving the loose mass of hair aside, he searched for Duo's face.

Quickly he discovered Duo was lying face down in the snow. He searched for a shoulder, an arm, something, and found only white coldness. For a horrifying moment the thought that perhaps there _was_ no body dominated the boy's already overworked mind. Maybe it hadn't been a dream. Maybe Duo had really died and someone had found the body and beheaded it and put the head here just to torment Quatre…Then he realized what he thought was snow and ice beneath was actually a white garment over freezing skin.

Shocked by the coldness of the skin, Quatre quickly searched out a pulse. There it was, thumping away beneath his nearly numb fingers. Relief flooded through him. Duo was alive! He was alive, and those three agonizing days were all just part of a horrible nightmare. Somehow he managed to lift Duo, surprised and concerned by how little he weighed. He shouldn't be thin enough for Quatre to feel his ribs so clearly though the cloth. Yes Duo had always been thin, but this was too thin! And it was Duo, it had to be!

Hefting his load, Quatre began to head back in the direction of the safe house. The temporary break in the storm ended, snowfall closing in around him. Visibility plummeted to near zero and Quatre could only hope he was heading in the right direction. Winds attempted to send both the boy and his burden tumbling into a deep snowdrift. He could almost swear Duo was gaining weight with each passing moment. He stumbled often but was pushed onward by occasional glimpses of the dark shack.

When what seemed to be hours passed without any sign of the safe house, Quatre felt the beginnings of panic creep up on him. He stopped and looked around, but the whiteness of the snow was identical everywhere he looked. He wasn't even sure he had turned his head. The blank curtain was blinding. He felt that maybe he truly was blind. It was followed by a feeling of vertigo, leaving him more disoriented than ever and unsure of which way was up. Even though he was a Gundam pilot trained to keep his head in tough situations, he'd never experienced such a total feeling of helplessness.

Just as he was about to give in to the panic, Duo moaned. The sound helped clear his head a little. Then he was treated to the sight of the safe house, barely a meter away. Sighing with relief, the boy hurried to the shack. He nearly banged into the wall in his haste.

Snow flung in through the open door coated everything in the small room. Quickly he staggered through the door and deposited his burden on the couch. He fought against the wind to close the door, wondering briefly why no one else had. Then again, even with the door shut and the winds kept mostly outside, the place was still freezing. The others were probably huddled up under their blankets pretending they weren't cold.

Quatre shrugged out of his coat and draped it over the still form of Duo. Trusting that he was still alive, he hurried to fetch a blanket. A noise stopped him. Glancing back, he saw Duo trying to rise. In a flash Quatre was at his side, pushing him back down onto the couch. Duo broke free of the blond's numb fingers and stood. When he raised his head Quatre gasped.

"Duo!?"

Quatre couldn't do anything but blink; shock paralyzed his body. He had known, deep down inside, that Duo was dead and buried. He knew that in the back of his mind, even if he refused to acknowledge it as truth. By denying the knowledge, Quatre had attempted to turn back time, reverse events until Duo was no longer dead but alive and happy. He knew that now, reluctantly admitted it. And yet the person before him was Duo. The violet eyes were the same, although the happy glint was missing. The chestnut hair was Duo's, unbound and soaked with snow. The posture was Duo's after a particularly bad mission. Dried blood traced a line from temple to chin and coated the back of a hand.

Despite what his eyes were saying, Quatre's mind couldn't or wouldn't grasp the fact that this was Duo. Belying its earlier disbelief, the boy's mind screamed that the Duo he knew was gone and never coming back.

Still gazing sadly at the petrified boy, the apparition reached with a blood-encrusted hand to pull a long pole from the folds of his white robe. He held it out before his body. A curved blade sprang into existence, forming a wicked scythe. Quatre gazed at the weapon, the glint of light on the silver blade mesmerizing him.

The spell was broken when his Uchuu no Kokoro gave a painful thump. Limbs jolted to life and Quatre scrambled backward. His back hit the hard resistance of a wall, then slid along it as he shuffled sideways. Duo didn't move. Quatre forced himself to breathe, then dashed down the short hallway and into his and Trowa's room.

The tall boy lay still, sleeping beneath the blanket. Quatre threw himself onto the other boy, shaking with silent sobs. While his limbs seemed to be under his control, his voice was not. Apparently, neither was his heart; it thumped wildly, drowning out outside noise.

A strangled sound emerged from Quatre's throat when he realized Trowa wasn't responding. Fumblingly Quatre found the teen's steady heartbeat. Eyes wild he resumed his efforts. His Uchuu no Kokoro thumped again and forced him to turn around.

Duo stood in the doorway, slowly shaking his head as if to imply the hopelessness of Quatre's situation. Quatre shivered, suddenly reminded of the cold. He shuddered again but complied as the long-haired boy beckoned for him to follow. Duo led the way back to the couch, stopping on the far side of it. Quatre halted at the other end, eyes fearfully watching every move the other made.

Finally in control of vocal chords, the blond spoke. "What's going on?" Not the brightest of questions, but it was all he could manage.

In response Duo hung his head and slowly shook it. Quatre blinked, slightly surprised at the repetitive motion. When he opened his eyes again Duo was gone.

"…Ninmu…" The voice came from behind, soft and sad.

Quatre whirled around in time to see the upraised scythe, silver glinting in the fading light. Time slowed, allowing the following moments to etch themselves deeply into his memory. 

His Uchuu no Kokoro thumped, leaving the terror-stricken boy gasping for breath. The scythe fell lower, closer to his throat. Quatre stumbled back into the couch. His Uchuu no Kokoro gave another painful beat. The cold metal slashed down, gaining on Quatre's flesh. Another agony-laced pulse pushed the boy off the couch. Scythe curved up again, blade glinting certain death. Quatre gasped, desperate for air after another beat. Time sped up and the boy's Uchuu no Kokoro gave another thump as the scythe ripped through flesh.

Quatre gasped, but his punctured lung was quickly filling with blood. The blade hadn't touched his heart, unfortunately. It was pretty much safe to assume that the other pilots were under the same enchanted sleep Trowa was; no one would hear his cries. Instead of a quick death, he had been sentenced to a slow one by drowning in his own blood.

Through the red haze of pain Quatre saw Duo standing above him. His hands hung loose by his sides, the scythe hidden from view once more. Quatre's vision wavered with each beat of his Uchuu no Kokoro. The pulses grew ever softer and farther apart, but the pain remained. The dying boy focused on his friend's sad violet eyes until his sight went dark and he could no longer see.

Quatre's Uchuu no Kokoro gave one last beat, then stilled.

~~~

"…Kanryo…"

Duo stood over Quatre's empty body, eyes filled with regret. Blood coated the floor around the fresh corpse and splattered the couch. It mingled with the melting snow, turning the white stuff pink and red. Placing a hand in the pool of blood and snow, Duo whispered a few words. The liquid seeped from the couch and pulled away from Quatre's clothes. It gathered under Duo's hand, where it clung and stained the flesh red. The teen rose, looked a moment more at his former friend then turned away.

He seemed to be on auto-pilot, his feet carrying him into the room that was now solely Trowa's. Duo placed one bloody finger over Trowa's heart and drew a rune. Then he moved to the room that used to be his. Wufei stood by Heero's bed, eyes empty and staring. On the bed sat Heero, frozen with hands on the ever-present laptop. Duo drew the rune over both hearts. His eyes lingered even as he walked out the door.

Once outside, he whispered the rune's name, then turned and melted into the snow.

Three runes written in blood sank though cloth and blazed for a moment on skin. They faded, leaving only faint red smears to mark their existence. The enchanted sleep lifted, leaving only slightly disoriented boys behind.

~~~

"You're sure then?"

"Aa." Heero's eyes remained trained on the laptop's screen.

Wufei turned and walked out of the room. He didn't know where he would go. If the weather were any better he would have gone out to where he had stashed Nataku. However, there was nothing he could do about the weather. He didn't want to admit that he disliked the idea of venturing out into the frozen world beyond the flimsy walls of the shelter. Wufei became angry with himself and stormed across the hall to pace the kitchen.

He didn't see the body.

~~~

After Wufei left, Heero continued typing. Soon, though, his fingers slowed and he grew still. There were no missions, and it wasn't likely there would be any. What could any of them do here in the middle of nowhere to help in the war? They hadn't seen anyone, much less any OZ personnel or rebel groups. Heero was annoyed. He should be fighting, one way or another, to end the war, not sitting in this shack doing nothing but slowly freezing to death.

Death.

Duo had died, though not of the cold. He killed himself, the idiot. It had been obvious that the braided boy had not liked this place, but to go so far as to kill himself? If he had felt the need to kill himself he should have done it while fighting, and taken an OZ base down with him.

Well, no help for it now. But there was something strange about Duo's death, something that bothered him. Of all the people Heero had killed or seen killed, none of their eyes had changed. Only Duo's eyes had changed colors, and Heero was fairly positive it was impossible for eyes to change colors so dramatically and so quickly.

Another thing bothered Heero's mind. Duo had seemed the last person who would commit suicide. After all, he was the very one who attempted to lecture Heero after he self-destructed. The braided boy had appeared to thoroughly enjoy life, even as terrible as it sometimes became. There were also the words Duo had spoken after dinner on the night he took his life and flung it into the white oblivion outside this shack. 

__

'Hey buddy, guess what? I'm gonna send your soul to the master so he can torture it along with mine! You'll be writhing in agony for the rest of forever!'

What had he meant by that? What was this business with souls? Who was this master Duo spoke of? And _writing in agony for the rest of forever_? Four good questions, no good answers.

Heero felt a twinge of regret as he admitted to himself that he could have answered some of those questions if he had just confronted Duo after hearing that cryptic little speech. Heero felt a larger twinge of regret when he acknowledged the fact that he really and truly could have prevented Duo's suicide. He had been awake while the braided one had stood over his bed, hesitating. He had felt the brush of disturbed air as Duo ran from the room. He had seen the flash of reflected light bouncing off the blade of the knife that had no doubt been intended for him.

He had known all this, seen all the signs, yet had done nothing to prevent the loss of the pilot. Heero felt little to no remorse over most of his actions. However, he could not help but berate himself for being a total and complete idiot for not stopping the braided teen from killing himself. He had helped to reduce their forces by a good measure; Duo had been a competent pilot, even if he had proved to be a nuisance at all other times.

And the worst part was Heero had allowed all this to happen for his amusement. He had suspected that something was wrong with Duo when he had caught the braided boy pausing over the containers of food, glass bottle in hand. He had known something was wrong when Duo hadn't wanted to eat. But Heero had allowed Duo to go on thinking that he knew nothing about what was happening. Heero had wanted to see what the braided one would do if left alone. Would he crack and confess everything, or was he tough enough to go through with his plan? Those were the questions Heero had wanted answered and had pursued those answers against all common sense. He was at fault.

And now it was too late to redeem himself.

~~~

Trowa woke buried beneath the blankets like a hibernating animal. He yawned and stretched, cracking a few joints. He shook himself, trying to hasten full awareness. Then again, within a few moments of being fully awake he'd be ready to sleep again; there was nothing to do in this miserable shack of a safe house. Still, he should get up and walk around, exercise his stiff muscles. Besides, he needed to use the bathroom.

Sighing, the boy heaved himself out of his bed, reluctant to leave the warm cave he had made for himself but in desperate need of a toilet. He paused, deciding it was much too cold to walk around without the protection of the blanket. Trowa snatched up the thick fabric and wrapped it around his narrow shoulders, insulating himself. He was already wearing his jacket, but dammit, it was cold! He was not so crazy as to imitate Heero, who seemed impervious to the weather, hot or cold.

Even through the blanket and jacket Trowa felt frozen fingers dancing over his skin, reveling in the raising of gooseflesh as they stole away his precious body heat. He shuffled out of his room and paused in the hallway. The door to the bathroom was just across the hall, but the tall boy couldn't force himself to cross the gap. Irrationally, he found himself thinking that Duo's corpse was still on the tiled floor in the midst of an ocean of blood. Although he pretended not to be disturbed by the sight of his friend's dead body he was horrified. What could possibly have forced the manic Duo, of all people, to commit suicide?

Trowa shook his head. The stress of not knowing why any of them were here, combined with Duo's death, must be getting to him. Duo was buried outside, and the bathroom was clean. He wouldn't walk into the small room and find Duo, wedged between the sink and bathtub, knife loosely clutched in his hand, surrounded by a pool of blood. He would find an empty bathroom. The grout between tiles would be stained a dark brown, but that could have been from dirty boots.

This was pathetic. Here he was, a professional terrorist and trained pilot, afraid to go to the bathroom alone. It was truly pathetic. Trowa had seen hundreds, more likely thousands of dead bodies in his life. He had never been haunted by any of them in his waking hours. One suicide shouldn't trouble him this much.

That thought firmly fixed in his mind, Trowa strode across the hall and yanked open the bathroom door. Empty. Clean. He had hardly felt more relieved in his life. Shaking his head, the boy closed and locked the door. Nerves, that's all it was.

When Trowa emerged from the bathroom, snugly wrapped in his blanket, he felt much better, not only because he had relieved the pressure in his bladder. He had entered the scene of the suicide, stood on the very tiles Duo must have stood on as he did the deed, and come out safe. Trowa was unreasonably pleased with himself.

Aimlessly wandering, the boy heard the faint clacking of computer keys as he passed Heero's room. That guy was relentless; he'd contact one of the scientists and demand answers or die trying. Sometimes he just didn't know when to stop. But then again, that might be why he was such a powerful fighter; he never gave up. As Trowa passed the kitchen he heard muttered Chinese curses. Wufei was pacing from one end of the small space to the other, back and forth, back and forth. Trowa stood for a moment, watching. When Wufei turned and began stomping back toward the door he looked up and gave the taller boy a curt nod in greeting, never missing a pace, never silencing the curses.

Trowa continued on, into the space that passed for a living room. The only bit of furniture was the couch Wufei slept on, nothing more. Quatre had to be in there; Trowa had passed every other room in this small place. He wondered what the other boy was doing. There wasn't much that could be done, but perhaps Quatre had thought of something interesting. If not, he could always go back to watching Wufei pace. Trowa entered the "living room" automatically glancing at the couch.

All thoughts screeched to a halt. The blanket dropped to the floor unnoticed. Cold air gleefully attacked Trowa's exposed hands and dove under his collar, but the boy didn't seem to care.

He'd found Quatre.

~ Tsuzuku ~


	5. ToB: Gomen

~ All standard disclaimers apply

~ Warning: See ToB-Ninmu

~ Tears of Blood: Gomen ~

He'd found Quatre, but the boy wasn't doing anything interesting.

Trowa completely ignored the fallen blanket around his feet, the fingers of ice trailing down his spine. Quatre lay, face up on the floor, unmoving. Without having to check for a pulse Trowa knew the boy was dead. Still, there was a tiny splinter of hope, sharp and painful, centered in his chest. He crawled to Quatre, unaware that he had dropped to his knees.

Staring at the pale face, Trowa couldn't bring himself to touch it. Quatre's eyes, wide and staring, were blank, flat. Pain and terror were etched in the lines still present on the boy's face. His mouth was open, gasping for unnecessary breath. One hand was clenched tight over his heart, wrinkling the fabric over his still chest. And just below that deathly pale hand was a rip, a gash in the boy's jacket. Trowa didn't linger on it, couldn't let himself linger on it, but he noticed something strange.

There was no blood. None at all. Quatre's clothes were dry, the floor clean. If there was no blood, then maybe… Trowa probed the tear, fingers trembling as they parted layers of slashed cloth. If there was no blood, then maybe…maybe Quatre was alive, unconscious but alive.

Somewhere in the back of Trowa's mind he knew that this was unreasonable. There was no way the smaller boy could still be alive. His skin, so pale it was almost white, was frozen. His chest, covered by layers of jackets and shirts, didn't rise or fall with the rhythm of breathing. His eyes, slightly clouded, didn't tear although they had been exposed to cold, dry air for long minutes. Quatre was dead.

But still, Trowa needed irrefutable proof. He needed to be absolutely certain that Quatre was…no longer here, before he allowed himself to crush the seedling of hope that grew bigger and stronger for the lack of blood. Loosing one gundam pilot and friend was enough. He could deal with that. But loosing two in less than a week? Trowa wasn't sure if he was capable of hiding his horror if Quatre proved to be dead. And if Quatre were dead, who had killed him, why, and how?

Questions chased one another, round and round in a mad game of tag. He did his best to ignore them, put them of the side. It was hard. To take his mind from the disturbing questions for which he had no answers, he forced himself to examine the prone body before him. The questions faded into the background as he took a closer look at the body.

Shaking fingers found skin, pulled apart cloth. Wide eyes peered down at the pale flesh, grew wider as they registered how deep the cut was. Swiftly Trowa searched for a pulse at the throat, at the wrist, even pressed his hand to the cold chest above the wound, desperate. He searched in vain. No pulse was to be found.

A tiny voice sounded in Trowa's mind. As it spoke it cut down the plant of hope that had taken root, chopped it up, and burned it. Trowa found himself sinking into depression as he listened.

__

'I told you. I told you he was dead, but did you listen? No~, you never listen to me. If you had listened, hope wouldn't have grown and you wouldn't be so broken when time came to cut it down. You truly are pathetic, encouraging hope to grow when you know you really should listen to me and kill the damn weed before it gets out of hand. You –

//Shut up! Just shut up! You're only a voice in my head. You're not real, so SHUT UP! // Trowa clamped his hands over his ears in an attempt to block out the sound of the voice's derisive tirade. But it was futile, and Trowa realized that. He lowered his hands and endeavored to mentally block out the voice's ramblings. He couldn't do it.

In a daze Trowa stood and walked stiffly to the kitchen. Wufei was still pacing, muttering to himself in Chinese. Trowa watched himself walk up to the boy, heard himself say that Quatre was dead, but he didn't quite believe himself. Wufei blinked, brought himself out of his inner musings, and brushed past the taller boy into the ineptly named living room. As if from far away Trowa watched himself make the short journey to Heero's room. And indeed, he did seem to be disconnected. His body was acting all on its own, knowing what had to be done and doing it without help from Trowa's head or heart.

Again he delivered his message and watched as Heero left his laptop to join Wufei at the couch. Trowa simply followed, mute, unfeeling, as if some vital part of him was frozen in a block of ice, leaving him unable to be fully aware of what happened around his body.

He stood, silent, observing from the doorway. Heero and Wufei were bent over the fallen boy, examining him as Trowa himself had done only a few minutes before. Dimly he heard someone saying that it was no use, Quatre was undeniably dead, but he didn't recognize the voice. Wufei draped a blanket over the boy, and only then did Trowa realize that he was cold. He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself and grasping for his blanket, but his numb fingers found only cold air. That must be his blanket then, covering Quatre.

Cold as he was, Trowa thought that his small friend must be colder than even he, if he was lying on the floor with the blanket pulled up over his head. Trowa decided that he would let Quatre have his blanket. He would borrow Quatre's, and they could trade later if Quatre wanted.

But right now Heero was lifting the Arab in his arms. Quatre must be incredibly tired and cold if he had passed out on the floor. Heero would put the boy in his bed. But wait, Heero was heading for the door. That wasn't right. Quatre's bedroom was in the other direction…

'_Idiot! Quatre's dead, not sleeping!' _ Trowa shook his head. The voice was wrong. Quatre couldn't be dead. There was no blood. _'Stupid, you know he's dead. There was no heartbeat, he wasn't breathing and you saw that gash. Quatre is dead.'_

//Dead…? //

__

'Yeah, dead. He's gone, you know, bye bye!'

//Bye…? //

__

'Uh huh. Now repeat after me: Quatre… is… dead.'

//Quatre…dead…? //

__

'Yeah genius. Now get your skinny little butt outside and help bury him.'

//Bury…? //

__

'Tsuuu…'

Trowa continued to stare blankly at the wall, his attention focused on the internal dialogue taking place in his mind. Again, a small part of his brain recognized the fact that the tiny voice was right, but Trowa could not get the rest of his brain to accept that fact. He was eager to believe that Quatre was merely sleeping and would wake eventually. But when Heero and Wufei reentered the safe house without the blond, Trowa finally dismissed the idea.

He felt something give way in his chest. Quatre was dead, just as the voice said. The voice was right; it always was. But no matter how many times it was proved correct, no matter how much it hurt to abandon the fragile illusion of hope, Trowa always, always chose hope over the harsh truths spoken by the voice. Always.

The tall boy snapped out of his trance-like state, squashing the last tendrils of hope himself. He turned on his heel and walked to his room. Wufei would now be sleeping in the bed that used to be Quatre's. He had to clear out the dead boy's few possessions.

~~~

Wufei watched silently as Trowa walked out of the room. He narrowed his eyes, wondering what the hell was going on. Two gundam pilots killed, three still alive. Who would be the next target? Trowa? Heero? Himself? Wufei was not one to believe in Maxwell's supposed suicide. It wasn't because of the boy's smiles and laughs. When he had bandaged Maxwell's arms he noticed how clean and deep the cuts were. There was no sign of hesitation, none at all. If it had truly been a suicide, there should have been a few shallow scrapes where the boy had wondered if he really could kill himself.

There was also the lack of motivation. Although Maxwell had been spontaneous, Wufei highly doubted that he would have decided that he wanted to kill himself just for the hell of it. He knew how important the Gundams were if they were ever going to win this war. Maxwell would never have committed suicide without an excellent reason.

And what of Winner? He had been murdered inside the so-called safe house and none of the others had heard anything. Trowa had found the body, but not the blood. The only obvious wound on the corpse had been the deep slash in its chest, but even when Wufei had stuck a finger into the gash he had found no blood. There was no trace of red anywhere, not on the floor, not on the couch, not even on Quatre's clothes. Wufei didn't quite know what to make of that. He had never heard of anyone finding a corpse drained of blood and never finding the missing fluid.

The boy shook his head and turned to roam the shack once again. As he stalked down the hall Heero's open door caught his eye. Most likely, Yui had made a connection between the two deaths and already had a theory on what was happening to them. Wufei entered the room, barely acknowledging the glare he received.

~~~

Tiny flecks of dry, powdery snow drifted almost lazily from the clouds. They swirled, dancing leisurely as the wind caught them. Buoyed by the air currents, it seemed as if the snowflakes would continue to sail up until they rejoined the clouds, coming full circle. But gravity called to them tempted them with sweet offers of peaceful rest. They answered. The snowflakes began spiraling down, continuing their aerial ballet until they retired atop a fresh grave. Some never reached the ground, instead landing on a white robed boy kneeling in the snow.

Duo crossed himself, murmuring a quick prayer for the dead. As the words of the prayer were voiced a flower of blood unfolded its petals over the mound of newly piled snow. When the prayer was finished the boy rose. He stood a moment, gazing thoughtfully at the fresh grave. Hesitantly he opened his mouth and began to speak.

"Upon the rose

A life is lost

Bright as prose

Or cold as frost

Hear me Oh Ancient One

Dark Bringer

Why is life unfair?

Drift into places

Where no one dares"

As his voice faded away a sudden wind threw the snow into a crazy dance. The boy was swallowed in a flurry of white, his robe blending perfectly with the whirlwind of snow. When all was calm once more the boy was gone. A rose painted in blood remained: a tribute to the dead.

~~~

"Nanda, Wufei."

"What do you think is going on?"

Heero paused in his typing. So Wufei had noticed it too. Heero wondered briefly how long the other boy had known something wasn't right with the deaths of their comrades. He dismissed the thought, turning back to his laptop. He was almost done sending a notification to H regarding Quatre's death, although he was almost positive that they would receive no acknowledgement, just as with Duo's death.

Wufei waited patiently for Heero to finish typing. As soon as the boy removed his fingers from the keyboard however, he was once again probed for his thoughts.

"I have not yet obtained enough information to state a complete theory."

"Then tell me what you know." Wufei's dark eyes were narrowed. "Perhaps you noticed something that escaped my attention."

Heero inwardly sighed but related all he knew about the alleged mission. When he recited Duo's little speech about souls writhing in agony Wufei's almond eyes widened perceptibly. Heero wanted to smirk at the sight. However, by the time he told Wufei about seeing Duo flee with the knife he no longer wanted to smile. Here he was at fault for not stopping the teen. When he stated his reasons he felt like hitting himself a few times for being so juvenile.

As he listened Wufei was alternately confused, surprised and slightly bewildered by the braided teen's actions. Through out it all though, he felt an underlying sense of anger towards Heero for keeping quiet. As much as Wufei liked to work solo he knew that this was one situation they were all in together. If they all wanted to survive, they should all know everything each other knew.

Unconsciously Wufei tightened his fist. "Why didn't you tell us this sooner?"

Heero narrowed his eyes. "I didn't think anything would come of it."

In truth Heero had known something would happen but he hadn't wanted to tell any of the other pilots. They too would see that the fault lay in him. That was one of the few things Heero hated with a passion: being faulted.

"You could have prevented the death of a Gundam pilot and you didn't think anything would come of it?! Just how thick is your skull?!" With that Wufei turned and stalked out of the room.

Heero blinked, then growled low in his throat. This was exactly why he hadn't said anything. He looked back at his laptop and cursed; the email notification of Quatre's death had been sent back. H's account no longer existed. Heero punched the mattress hard enough to make his laptop bounce dangerously close to the edge of the bed. He shut down the computer and, after placing it out of the way, stormed out of the room with no clear destination in mind.

~~~

In a dark room a tall man stared intently into one of the many obsidian basins before him. He waved a hand over the scrying glass, fingers hovering bare millimeters above the surface of the inky contents. The surface rippled, water-like, then cleared. A longhaired boy appeared in the glass, crouched over a fresh grave. As the boy crossed himself the man smirked. // Old habits die hard, I suppose. //

The man's eyes widened imperceptibly as a crimson rose bloomed over the mound of snow. Though he had existed for centuries he had never seen anything like that flower. He wasn't how the boy had done it, nor was he certain that this turn of events didn't signal the coming end of his rule. 

As he gazed at the bloody flower a sudden urge overcame him. He turned away from the basin, idly waving a hand over it once more. The scrying glass went dark and the man left the room. He headed to one of his more private chambers. The next to go had to see the rose before it withered. But first, something had to be done about Duo. The boy needed to be reminded of his place.

As soon as the door closed a face appeared thought the inky depths of the scrying glass. Hazel eyes wide with fear, the young man mouthed two words.

__

'…Kid… stop…'

~~~

Trowa stepped out of his room just in time to see Wufei stomp out of Heero's. He watched silently as the Chinese one snatched up his duffel from a corner of the living room and headed back in Trowa's direction. Silently the tall boy moved aside, permitting entrance. His emerald gaze lingered for a moment on Wufei, curious about what had gotten him so upset.

He turned to walk down the hall again but stopped short as Heero burst from his room. The boy looked ready to maim anything that happened his way. Trowa shook his head; now that Duo was no longer here for Heero to take his anger out on the Japanese youth had to find another target.

Heero turned left into the kitchen, so Trowa ruled that room out of his choices of wanderings. He walked down the hall, not pausing to watch the blue-eyed hurricane pace the kitchen. One thing was for sure: Trowa did not want to be the one to clean up the mess left over after Heero was done with his tantrum.

He wondered what his two companions could have been talking about that would get both of them so upset. No, upset wasn't the word; upset made it sound as if Wufei and Heero were toddlers arguing over who got to play with the dump truck first. No, they were way beyond upset. Wufei looked positively furious and Heero seemed mad enough to strangle someone. Although he was curious, Trowa was no idiot. He would wait out the storm and hopefully when one of them had calmed down he would be able to question without an overwhelming fear of being hideously tortured before being allowed to die a slow and painful death.

Trowa had no problem picturing the horrible death he would surely suffer if he dared disturb either of the others. He had seen so many deaths, so much suffering in his short life. Any one of those scenes of destruction could very well be the setting of his own demise. If there was a merciful God out there somewhere, maybe he could leave this life suddenly, one burst of pain and it would be all over. However, if fate decided to deal him a loosing hand, he could expect various, effective methods of torture and pain before the life was smothered out of him.

Perhaps having an imagination slightly more vivid than a rock was a bad thing.

~~~

Wufei paced the small room he would, from this day until the time this crazy mystery was solved, reside in along with Barton. It may have been foolish of him but he had not wanted to take Maxwell's bed. The boy had died there and Wufei had a certain… aversion to sleeping in the place that someone he had known and fought along side with had died. He was a more than a bit uneasy about remaining in this place, but damned if he was going to admit it!

He would be strong, and conquer his fears. He had to. He may be unworthy to pilot Nataku, but he prayed her spirit would lend him her strength and thus allow him to make it out of this alive. In return he would train even harder, hopefully make a decent warrior out of himself, become a man Meiran would have been proud to wed.

But what was he up against? To survive he would need a plan, but for that plan to be effective he needed some idea of the problem he was facing. At the moment he had put together very little of the problem at hand. He needed to think, examine all the clues he had gathered both on his own and from Yui. The thought of the Japanese youth rekindled the flame of anger that had cooled somewhat while he had been pacing. Wufei returned to pacing with renewed vigor, muttering all the while about thickheaded, juvenile acts of silence.

~~~

Heero harshly berated himself as he walked in circles around the kitchen. Trowa had thought Heero mad enough to strangle someone and indeed Heero felt like strangling someone: himself. His childish acts earlier had resulted in the loss of the Deathscythe pilot and most likely the loss of the Sandrock pilot as well. The two deaths were undoubtedly connected in some way, although Heero could not yet imagine how.

He knew he should calm down and look at this situation rationally, logically, but he was having one hell of a time attempting that feat. Every time he started to relax something reminded him of his own immature wish to see how far Duo would go. Whenever he chanced to look at the counter he was reminded of how Duo had attempted to poison them and how he had done nothing but watch. If he happened to look at the table he recalled Quatre sitting there, lost in memories of Duo's destruction. The fact never escaped him that if he had just done something, anything to confront the boy, Duo would never have had the chance to kill himself.

Heero slammed one fist into the countertop hard enough to send tiny fractures along the surface of the Formica and shivers of pain up his arm. He barely glanced at his hand to check if he had split his knuckles. He hadn't. Briefly Heero closed his eyes. This was maddening. They were stuck in this pathetic excuse for a safe house with almost no contact with the outside world and someone seemingly determined to kill them all. All right, so he was exaggerating; they weren't really stuck and if they tried hard enough they could contact someone in the outside world. Heero wasn't usually prone to exaggeration, but he was worked up!

Taking a deep breath he attempted to calm himself once more. This time he was slightly more successful. Some of the anger leeched away and his muscles relaxed a bit, but he was still tense and there was more than a healthy amount of anger left over. He could, however, think more rationally now. Heero easily lifted himself onto the countertop to sit and think for a while.

~~~

Duo hurried through the halls of the master's palace keeping the incriminating scythe close to his body and letting his bangs shadow his eyes. It was ironic. From the time the master had taken his soul he had known the symbolism of the scythe. Duo had feared ever doing anything that would cause him to don the white robe and take up the accompanying scythe. And yet for some bizarre reason the gundam he ended up piloting was equipped with the dreaded tool. Damn foreshadowing.

This time however, he kept a lookout for any other souls and successfully avoided banging into any of them. He really did not need another beating, thank you very much. At least, he believed he didn't deserve another beating, but what the slave thought made no difference. Whether he got one or not was entirely up to the master's disposition.

Duo turned one last corner and sighted the massive doors leading to the throne room. He had been summoned again, but this time he didn't know what to expect. Previously when he had been summoned he had known that he was in trouble. He had stepped out of line and deserved what punishment the master dealt out. But this time Duo couldn't see anything for which he might be punished. He had killed Qua…one of the Gundam pilots, just as ordered. But he hadn't been ordered to say that prayer for him. In fact, he probably shouldn't have said it at all… Okay, so maybe he did have something to be worried about.

The braided one hesitated in front of the gigantic doors, but quickly forced himself to place his palm over the black handprint that served as a lock. The enormous doors swung open without the traditional squeak of hinges heard in old horror movies. Duo stepped into the room and handed his scythe over to one of the guards standing beside the portal. He was glad to be rid of the thing despite the fact that even though the scythe was not in his hands he was still a failure.

Duo kept his head down as he walked forward. Other souls in the room silently parted for him. It was as if he had an infectious disease and if any of the other souls accidentally came into contact with him or his damned white robes, they would be contaminated and dragged down to his level. That's how it seemed to Duo anyway.

When he reached the middle of the room the boy dropped to his knees. He waited there, bowed on the cold stone floor, until the master chose to acknowledge his presence. When his name was spoken Duo rose to his feet but kept his head lowered. He waited, silent, for the master's words.

"You have done well in disposing the blond." Duo felt his chest swell with the praise. "However, I do not condone your prayer for him. Don't be so surprised; I was watching you. And I will continue to watch you until you dispose of the remaining 3 pilots, understand?"

Duo nodded vigorously. He understood very well. If he did anything, anything at all that was even slightly out of line, he was worse than dead. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Irehi, take him," the man motioned to Duo. "To see his friend."

Duo started; he had not expected that. A soul clothed in a dark blue robe stepped forward and gave the braided one a quick once-over, contempt clearly visible in his bright green eyes. Duo felt himself shrink a little, shoulders rounding protectively. Irehi brushed past him, but he was acutely aware of how the other soul stayed just out of reach.

Hiding a sigh Duo followed his escort to the doors. He halted abruptly as the guard thrust a scythe in front of his face. The violet-eyed soul was sorely tempted to duck under the shining blade and run off without it but he knew better. The master, along with Irehi of the Blue Robe and all the other souls in attendance were watching. Duo squashed the urge and, reluctantly, grabbed the long wooden handle.

Irehi walked quickly, most likely eager to drop his charge and run. His colored robe swished against his ankles, captivating Duo's attention. The braided one could not take his eyes off the blue cloth before him. He wanted that robe. Oh how he wanted that robe and the position it signified. Sure the Blue Robes were only slightly higher in status than your average soul, but even the typical soul was indefinitely higher than a White Robe. White Robes were the diseased, deformed and otherwise contemptible of the master's souls. The Colored Robes were the privileged, the ones everyone wanted to be. The elite. There had been a time once… but that time was long past, gone forever.

When Irehi stopped suddenly Duo almost ran into him. He caught himself just in time, barely saving himself from another beating. Irehi looked over his shoulder and glared. Duo cringed. He was not scared of the glare itself; in fact, it was a downright pathetic glare compared to any one of Heero's. No, Duo was more afraid of the meaning of that look than anything else. In that one glance Irehi effectively conveyed that if Duo had stopped one millisecond later, the braided boy would have been flayed alive, or whatever the equivalent was, seeing as how he was already dead.

Silently, still delivering his wordless threat, the green-eyed soul pushed open the door. Cold air flooded out of the room and a thin mist crept along the floor. Duo edged around the taller man and slid carefully into the dark room beyond. Abruptly he froze, eyes widening as he realized where he was: the room of the condemned. Behind him the door swung shut, plunging the room into complete darkness but for the watery, pale light of the containment chambers. He shivered, the cold of the room piercing his bones.

Duo started walking.

~~~

Wufei stopped pacing midstride, finally realizing that pacing would do him no good. He needed to calm down so he could think. Although the boy was loath to do it with the temperature being as low as it was he peeled off his coat. He would be more than warm enough soon. As soon as the heavy coat was out of the way he launched himself into one of the many difficult katas he practiced daily. His awareness of the world around him faded until all he was conscious of was his own body, muscles tensing and relaxing as he glided through the fluid movements.

~~~

Letting his mind drift away from visions of his bloody death, Trowa ventured into the living room. Naturally his eyes shied away from the couch but the tall boy forced himself to walk right up to it. He knelt down next to the large piece of furniture and laid his palm on the hard wood floor. Before his eyes, Quatre appeared as he had been when Trowa first found him. The emerald-eyed one stared at the apparition before him. The hand that had been touching the floor was shoved deep into Quatre's chest wound, making it appear as if the blond had grown an extra arm from his breastbone.

Trowa shook his head and moved his arm, dislodging the hallucination. He tried not to think of this area as the place Quatre had died in. Instead he attempted to convince himself that at one time a body had lain there. A body, not Quatre, his friend. But the harder he tried, the clearer he saw the small Arab and the harder it was to vanquish the spirit. Once Trowa heard a muffled thump from the kitchen, but the phantom didn't waver with his concentration.

This was his tradition, his way of saying good-bye to the dead. He did it for all he had killed and for those of his few friends who had died. Earlier Trowa had gone into the bathroom and simply stood looking at the place Duo had cut himself. He'd also spent some time watching the braided one's likeness flicker in and out of being on the bed. He had stared out of the window at the white world beyond the glass straining to make out the boy's grave. Now he would do the same for Quatre.

After a long while Trowa managed to banish the image of Quatre's body for a full minute. He then rose from the floor and turned to the window. It was highly doubtful that he'd see anything more than a flurry of white but the boy was determined to try. Not many knew of his silent good-byes but he unfailingly delivered them. This contributed to endless nights of bad dreams, but Trowa figured he owed at least that much to the dead.

As he approached the window, the boy became aware of a clinking sound. It was hailing. The stones were about the size of a golf ball and the wind was strong enough to send them plinking against the window. Trowa stayed close to the glass but didn't lean against it. His breath was hot against the cold pane, fogging it up in an instant. Periodically as he peered out into the hail-battered world he had to swipe at the mist obscuring his view.

In truth it didn't make much of a difference whether the window was fog-free or not. The hailstones were either in sharp focus or they were fuzzy, but it was still just hail. Yet Trowa diligently continued staring out the window, wishing for just one glimpse of the graves.

He peered out of that window for another few minutes without sighting anything that might have been a grave. Finally he backed off, shaking his head and ignoring the pale phantom once again lying prone at the foot of the couch. The boy turned to the kitchen, praying that either Heero had left that room or, if not, that he had sufficiently calmed down enough so Trowa could grab a drink without trouble.

~~~

Heero glanced at the doorway when he heard someone entering. Trowa nodded a greeting and Heero turned back to his inner musings. He almost had a theory about what was happening to them, but there were still a few points unexplained. Dark blue eyes closed as the boy contemplated the options.

~~~

With glass of water in hand Trowa retreated from the kitchen. He was glad Heero seemed to be calm. He did not relish the thought of cleaning up any mess the other boy made. But if Trowa didn't clean it no one would. Neither Heero nor Wufei seemed the type to clean broken plates from the floor; the pieces wouldn't endanger the mission.

Trowa returned to the window and took up his search once more. He saw nothing but white hail, but that was slowing. He could see more of the world beyond the glass, or at least, he assumed that he could see more. Still all he saw was the hailstones falling close to the window and, beyond that, blank whiteness. Blank, blank-red?

"What the hell…?"

The blanket fell to the ground. Unthinkingly Trowa turned and raced to the door. As soon as he turned the knob icy wind forced its way in. Hail stones battered his body but he took no notice. He was irrationally intent on making it to the unidentified splotch of red. Trowa knew something was wrong with this. Not just today, this week, or this entire idiotic "mission". Something was off inside of him as well. If he were thinking clearly he wouldn't be rushing off into this storm by himself. He wouldn't have been so affected by the deaths of Quatre and Duo. Hell, if he had been thinking clearly he wouldn't have even taken this stupid assignment! He had known that this so-called mission was –most likely- fake. There could be nothing that any one of them could do this far from civilization, let alone all four of them together.

Yet, something had compelled him to acknowledge this mission. That something was now forcing him to fight his way through the blinding hail and against the icy wind. It sparked a desire to see for himself what that red blotch was, a desire so strong Trowa was unable to resist. Step by painful step he made his way ever closer to the flash of red. Hail stones zipped by, stinging his chilled flesh. He was quickly soaked to the skin, shivering, shaking with both cold and anxiety. Why couldn't he stop? Why did his body continue onward despite the urgent messages from his brain to turn back?

He took a deep breath of frozen wind, fighting back the urge to cough as the icy air hit the back of his throat. Muscles tensed as the boy attempted to halt his progress. His body moved onward: one, two, three steps, then stopped. He stood quivering for a while, valiantly resisting the compulsion to keep moving ahead. His body jerked forward another step.

Trowa grit his teeth and clenched his fists in an effort to halt all movement. The wind whipped around him, piercing straight through his clothes to chill his flesh. Although goose bumps were raised along his arms and legs, sweat trickled slowly down the boy's face. He was shaking, muscles straining and crying out against the need to move. Yet he held on.

~~~

A man cloaked in shadows frowned as his target resisted. He admired the boy for his persistence and strong will, but was determined to make the boy see the crimson blossom. He had made up his mind and once he had decided something nothing could change it. Time to change tactics. The man sent another command, resolved to make the boy see the flower. 

~~~

Concentration slipped as Trowa attempted to turn around. His body took two steps before he was able to regain control, fragile as that control was. Unable to go back and unwilling to go forward he stayed rooted in place, shaking. But he was fighting a loosing battle. The urge was indefatigable whereas Trowa was not. He was already tiring, his strength seeping from ever pore in his body.

Suddenly the wind changed directions. Hail no longer struck his face. Instead the stones pelted his back. The wind blew hard as if to force him onward, away from the safe house and headlong into whatever awaited him at the red splotch. Trowa was thrown off balance by the change of winds and staggered forward a few steps before he managed to catch himself again. The wind howled as if in disappointment, then doubled its efforts. A particularly large hailstone nailed him square in the back. Trowa's concentration shattered and he jerked forward. Although he tried he was too exhausted, his energy levels too depleted to effectively resist the urge. He staggered onward, pushed by the wind and hail at his back, pulled by the unknowable force to his front.

~~~

The shadowed man smiled, pleased that the boy had finally given in.

Elsewhere, another boy continued walking, likewise dreading every step that brought him closer to his destination. Both staggered on, shivering with cold and apprehension. Neither grasped just how much the sight of their destinations would effect them.

~~~

He stood still for a moment, catching his breath. The katas had helped relax him, and a shower would calm him even further. Wufei walked out of the room and across the hall. He stripped off his shirt, shivering as cold air flooded over his overheated skin. Quickly he finished disrobing, climbed into the shower stall and turned the hot water on full blast. His skin twitched as cold water burst from the showerhead. The water quickly heated up until the boy was in danger of being scalded.

As he scrubbed the Chinese boy noticed a dark red smear on his chest. Puzzled, he rubbed at it with the washcloth. The streak came away on the cloth, leaving his chest soapy but otherwise clean. Wufei shook his head, water droplets flying from his hair. He went on with his shower, putting the red smear out of his mind for the moment.

~~~

Duo wrapped his arms around his shoulders, wishing that his robe offered more protection against the cold emanating from the containment chambers. Then again, perhaps his chill was caused by the moans and occasional shrieks let out by the tormented souls. They surrounded him, floating in the clear fluid that filled the cells, crying out in pained supplication. Their eyes were wide in their pale faces, staring, staring…

For the most part Duo was able to ignore the piercing looks, block out the sight of ones like him writhing in agony and force himself onward. Quatre would be in the cell farthest from the door. He had to keep moving. The master had his ways of knowing everything everyone of his servants did. He had to do as the master ordered.

__

'…Duo…!'

Duo froze. That voice… No…

Frantically the boy whipped around, carefully not looking up at the circular chambers next to him. He scanned the base of the cell he had just passed, searching for the number he knew was engraved in the metal base. He had to see, had to make sure. There was no way he had come that far already. It was impossible. Where was that number? Surely it wasn't-

#151. Duo dropped his scythe, oblivious to the resounding clang as the blade hit the stone floor. He rubbed at his eyes but the number was still the same. The boy sprinted to the cell across the way, checked its number. 152. And the one next to it was number 154. No mistake then.

Warily he turned around, lifted his eyes to chamber number 153. The soul contained inside was shaking, arms wrapped tightly around himself, biting his lip to keep from screaming. Pained hazel eyes stared at Duo from under a fall of light brown hair. Duo was captured by that gaze, unable to look away and barely able to breathe. He had changed so much… Duo heard someone whisper a name and belatedly realized that it had been he who had spoken.

"…Solo…"

~~~

A rose painted in blood. Trowa sagged to his knees as he saw the flower left on Quatre's grave. Tentatively he touched it, half expecting it to vanish upon contact. When it didn't he gazed at his red-stained fingers, unbelieving. He rubbed them together, surprised that the blood was still liquid.

Without warning he shot to his feet and began forcing his way back to the safe house. The wind impeded his progress but at least the hail was letting up. The stones dwindled in size until they were no bigger than peas then disappeared all together. Snow whirled down from the heavens, coating the hail-littered ground, dusting Trowa's bowed head.

He squinted ahead, relieved and somewhat surprised at the blurry sight of the safe house. He hadn't been walking for a minute yet. Were the graves really that close to the shack? Time and distance seemed to be playing tricks on his already dazed and tired mind. But that itself might be the answer. Exhaustion from his mental battle, compounded with the stresses of the past four days, hell, the past 16 years, was enough to explain away any confusion he felt about this short journey.

// When I get inside I'm going to bed. Not even the dreams will wake me up until I've gotten at least 5 hours of sleep. //

Trowa staggered though the door, barely managing to drag it shut after him. He made his way to his room slowly, fatigued almost beyond his limits. Luckily his body was still numb with cold, rendering his mind unconscious to the pain of the bruises he knew were forming all over his body. He was too tired to care about the pain he knew he would wake up to. All he cared about was sleep.

As he dragged himself past the kitchen he barely noted Heero's questioning glance. Trowa didn't even have the energy to blink at the other youth. If he blinked he would most likely never open his eyes again. Muffled noises coming from the bathroom told him that Wufei was inside. Trowa was grateful for that. There would be no interruptions as he made his way to his bed and flopped down onto the mattress. Dragging the blankets up over his head used up the last of his energy. The boy sighed deeply then slept, all conscious thoughts slipping away from him as he sank into the abyss of sleep.

~~~

"…Solo…"

The soul of the young man stared unblinkingly, hazel eyes seeming at once familiar and alien. Duo felt his chest constrict even further as he met those eyes. They were the same shade from long ago but the stark terror evident in that gaze warped any and all other familiarity.

Both souls stared at each other for what seemed to be an eternity. Neither spoke or moved except for the shivers that perpetually wracked Solo's body. All of Duo's concentration was focused on the young man before him. Even the occasional screams emitted from the souls around them couldn't break the spell. As much as he wanted to Duo couldn't look away. The sight of his friend shaking in pain captivated him the way people are drawn to the scene of an accident. He was frozen, unable to move, body totally and completely ignoring mind's shouts to get the hell out of there. He watched, breath shallow, as Solo opened his mouth.

__

'…Kid… Stop…'

The words broke Duo free from his paralyzed state. He sucked in a huge breath and began backing away from his one-time friend. Still he could not break eye contact, couldn't even close his eyelids against the sight of the young man's soul. He continued backpedaling, freezing in place a moment as he encountered the smooth coolness of containment chamber number 152.

Duo whirled around, eyes wide as he turned to face the soul behind him. Her head was thrown back, body contorted into an almost impossible backbend. Hands like talons, she clawed at her throat as if to tear out her carotid artery. But as Duo watched the wounds healed themselves almost instantly. There was no blood to cloud the fluid surrounding her. She screamed, continuing to claw at her neck despite the futility of her act.

Frantically, stumbling over his own feet, Duo scrambled deeper into the chamber, away from the screaming, clawing girl and the silent, shuddering Solo. He dared not look back for he feared that if he did he would once again meet the hypnotic gaze of his friend and be rooted to the spot, this time forever. Trapped by the large hazel eyes he would be unable to break free. He would be ensnared, condemned to everlasting torment before his time.

Duo ran past the holding cells, unheeding the calls of the tormented. Belatedly he realized he no longer had his scythe with him. He must have dropped it while looking at Solo… Well, he'd just grab it on his way out. He'd keep his head down and run like hell until he was past cell no. 153. Then he wouldn't be caught by the other soul's hypnotic gaze. He would make it out, finish his mission and hope that the master would be lenient in his punishment.

Eventually the soul slowed to a walk. He was breathing hard, much too hard for just a short sprint. Terror had tightened the muscles in his throat, made deep breaths next to impossible. Duo paused a moment, hands on knees. When he was breathing easier he began walking again, studiously ignoring the containment chambers and their captive souls. He focused on his feet, putting one in front of the other in a measured rhythm, never missing a beat.

He was so absorbed in forcing himself onward that he didn't notice when he passed his destination and continued to walk past empty glass cylinders. The vocalizations of the condemned reverberated throughout the entire room making it impossible for the boy to judge when he passed through the columns of tortured souls and into the as yet unoccupied cells.

Something made him stop and take stock of his immediate surroundings. Duo blinked in surprise when he saw the empty chambers to either side of him. He hesitated, not wanting to turn around but knowing that he had to. The master was probably watching him right now. He had been sent to see Quatre and if he attempted to leave without doing so… Well, the resulting tortures would be going straight to the top of his 'Things That Really, Really Suck' list.

So reluctantly he turned to face back the way he came. For a moment he couldn't get his legs to work. Then an image of the beatings he would get forced him to move so fast he nearly fell over. Once he regained his balance he continued to backtrack until he came to Quatre's little space in Hell.

For a while all Duo could do was stare. The soul caught behind glass seemed blind to the presence of his small audience. He writhed, frantically squirming as if he were possessed by a worm about to become fish food. Quatre's pale hair floated around his face, an undulating frame for the portrait of consummate agony expressed in too-bright eyes.

Duo found himself talking to the entrapped soul, unable to dam the flow of words. "Guess you wouldn't recognize me now, eh Quatre? Bet you never thought I could do something like kill one of the only friends I've ever had. But I have. I've killed friends before, and I'll do it again. It's not like I _wanna_ do it. I gotta. 'S my mission." He chuckled, but there was no humor in it.

"This is all my fault. Just 'cause I was a stupid little street brat desperate to survive… I'm cursed, that's what I am. I didn't wanna hafta do this to ya buddy, but it's done now. Can't undo it, can't go back in time and correct all the mistakes I've made." Duo placed a palm against the smooth barrier, gazing up at the condemned soul of his friend and victim.

"Gomen," he whispered, leaning forward to rest his forehead on the cold glass.

He didn't notice when Quatre looked down at him, eyes full of gentle understanding.

~ Tsuzuku ~

~ A/N: The poem spoken by Duo was, sadly, not written by me. It was pulled from the depths of my friend Morpheus-kami's mind. All credit goes to him. Hail the poetry writing god of dreams


End file.
